Dreams Made Flesh

"games," the Sadist had scared the shit out of everyone in that Hayllian camp.
    "It's a game," Lucivar repeated. "He knows his role…Mother Night, he's played it enough times over the centuries."
    "And Jaenelle is pretending to waver between refusing to believe the rumors and wondering if there's some truth to them?"
    "That's my guess." He sighed. "Come on. We'd better find them."
    "I prefer watching the Sadist's games from a distance." But when Lucivar threaded his way through the crowd to reach the ballroom, she swore under her breath and followed him.
    Lektra pulled her cousin Tavey into a small alcove where she could keep an eye on the ballroom and still talk with relative privacy. Watching Daemon fawn over Jaenelle was beyond intolerable, and if he continued playing the ardent lover so publicly, all her efforts to free him would be ruined. So she had to do something now. It was unfortunate that she didn't have time to find a male who could make the lie believable, but she had to hope that the shock of the claim would make Daemon react without thinking.
    "This is what I want you to do," she said. Tavey's eyes widened as she told him.
    "But he's a Warlord Prince," Tavey said, his voice rising until she shushed him.
    "Exactly. By Protocol, if he's told to walk away, he has to walk away."
    "But doesn't she have to tell him to go?"
    "She'll never tell him. So you have to."
    "But I don't even know her!"
    "Shush!" Lektra looked around to assure herself no one was paying attention to them. "That doesn't matter. He won't know that." She paused and made her lips quiver. "Tavey, if you don't do this for me, my love will never be free, and if he ends up having to marry her, I'll be so miserable I…I don't think I'll be able to stand living anymore."
    "Don't say that, Lektra. Don't." Tavey squeezed her hands. "I'll do it. I promise."
    She sniffled and gave him a brave smile."I won't forget this. And once Daemon and I are married, I'm sure he'll use his family's influence to get you a position in whatever court you want."
    "Wouldn't mind having a month or so with Sadi's 'cousin.' "
    "You want the whore? You can have her. I've already made plans for getting her out of the way for a while to insure she's not a distraction. There's no reason why she can't provide you with some company while she's staying in the country."
    "Is something wrong?" Daemon asked as he escorted Jaenelle around the edge of the ballroom.
    "I'm trying to look petulant," she replied. "Don't I look petulant?"
    "You look like you have gas."
    "Daemon." She choked back a laugh.
    His lips twitched. This party was turning out to be more fun than he'd anticipated. Oh, not the party itself, but playing out this game with Jaenelle was definitely entertaining. It had been easy enough to slip behind that cold, bored expression that had served him so well in the Terreillean courts. Problem was, the mask kept slipping. They kept slipping, forgetting their roles of suspicious woman and discontented man. Dancing with her for the first time in months was too delicious a feeling to spoil with a game.
    But he'd agreed to play this out, so that's what he would do.
    "Are we still scheduled to have a public quarrel?" he asked, slipping an arm around her Waist once they found an open space where they could watch the dancers.
    "Yes, we are, because I'm upset with you." Jaenelle frowned as she looked at him. "Why am I upset with you?"
    "So that we can spend hours tonight doing the kiss-and-make-up part of this pretend quarrel," he purred, using Craft to change the sexual heat that, even leashed, poured out of him into psychic seduction tendrils that gently coiled around her while phantom hands stroked the inside of her thighs.
    "Mother Night," she gasped.
    Suddenly she was leaning hard against him, letting him support her.
    "Feeling a bit weak in the legs?" he asked too innocently.
    Her laughing snarl turned into a warm smile when she noticed the man swiftly approaching them.
    Handsome, graceful and lean, with a mane of brown hair artfully disheveled, the man had fair skin, which meant he wasn't native to Dhemlan, and green eyes that were focused on Jaenelle. An Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince. A rival.
    Daemon hated him on sight.
    "My darling," the man said, pressing his lips to the back of the hand Jaenelle held out to him.
    "Prince Rainier," Jaenelle replied, still smiling.
    "I'm wounded," Rainier said.
    Not yet, but you will be, Daemon thought.
    "My favorite Lady finally makes